


All Offs on Mann Yards

by ificationer



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Gen, Humor, Improvisational, Random - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4669853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ificationer/pseuds/ificationer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You do good in the battlefield, we'll treat you a day-off at Mann Yards. Large,vast,rich fields for all your daily needs. Not as comfy as home? Don't worry! Mann Co. cares. That's why we dug some houses owned by a scumbag named Darling, right out from their roots and planted them directly onto Mann Yards. There's room for family and friends. So why don't you take'em home? Cause we will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. These boots are made for kicking

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm posting this work on fanfiction as well. It's purely improvisational, so it will be kind of a mess. I wrote the first chapters before I came up with the summary or even the title for that matter. I'm trying to accomplish a style similar to the official tf2 blogs and comics. That means I ain't pairing anyone up, but staying true to their character... just yet. I'm also trying to expand their personalities and the lore in general. Though some things will be left unexplained and the story might go all over the place, that is the beauty of it. Enjoy!

All Offs on Mann Yards

Chapter 1

The grass grew taller by day, as the Soldier's footfalls failed to achieve that hard, disciplinary sound of his daytime march like they used to. Nevertheless, it wasn't the first time Soldier's boots were muffled and dirty.

Many nights, he'd sit by the fireplace and spit clean the boots himself. Sometimes he would wonder - why is slavery illegal? If it wasn't, he'd have his very own orphan. Could teach him a thing or two about the art of shoe shining. It would contribute greatly to the economy. Would be good for the kid too, who's probably just sitting in an alley someplace cold and moist, doing whatever children that do have parents can't do - like being outdoors.

But Soldier's not the one making the calls. He's the rook. A puppet- Wait no. Those are toys made for Russians. Soldier is a man who serves America, and if America wants slavery illegal then by god he'll put every kid in America in a cardboard box and throw it in an orphanage.

But first he has to finish his march. After he remembers why he started it.

Time and time again things don't happen according to plan, and for Soldier that wasn't an excuse to stop. With a stomping halt, he paused to gather his surroundings. The dry winds blew to the north and his boot stood inches apart on a mysterious pair of footprints. That can only mean one thing - and now he remembers it all, he is situated deep inside the enemy territory.

"I have you now, you rancid old maggots." The Soldier knew it was danger, but it wasn't going to stop him. He followed the footprints as fast as he could, and he could feel the tension rising, as he was descending down the lines with every tick of a minute. Some time passed and he knew he was getting closer. He could hear their voices growing more louder, and it seems they do not suspect a single american to come knocking on the door right in front of their faces, that's where they were wrong. So wrong.

"Yo, Soldier."

"Scout!?" Soldier paused for a moment to acknowledge his teammate's presence. He beamed a wrinkled smile after a moments notice, cracking his knuckles. "Good work, Scout you majestic little boy wonder, you made America proud. Now stand back and make sure the door's shut tight. I'm going in bare. No time for fireworks. Only good old-fashioned neck massages."

"What the hell are ya doing down there?"

Wait! Down? The natural response would be "Where?", but Soldier paused again, keeping his dignity up high, he quickly ran a mental checklist of what things to say to a child when even he himself does not know at all either. "Say what? Go to your room, scumbag!"

The Scout sighed to the old patriots deep understanding of parenthood, which surprisingly resembled his mom's.

"I am in my room." He yelled, resting his elbow upon the story high windowsill, where his room was located in. "I've been here this whole time with the gang. We're having a party up here because I stole a briefcase three times in a row... No thanks to YOU."

"Hey!" The Soldier pointed a finger "I've been busy advancing forward to the enemy front."

Scout rolled his eyes "You've been running in circles on that same spot for hours. You literally dug a ring shaped hole with your feet and now you're left stranded stuck inside it. Kind of think of it, that's really hard to do, I couldn't believe it could be done without a shovel or something, but I gotta give it to you - you proved me wrong. It's a beautiful ditch too. Nice job."

The Soldier, left with no words, looked around the hole he was in for some clues. Not a second later he turned to the young man with a furious smug.

"That is called a trench and it serves for tactical purposes, brat." He spilled the last word with venom, clenching his fist and waving it at Scout's direction.

"Uhhm..." Scout waved at the Soldier who had his back turned to him "I'm over here, brotha. You know, you should probably change that helmet of yours. You could see the world in a whole different way without it."

"I have a helmet?"

Scout furrowed his eyebrows, throwing a frustrating glare at his teammate.

The Soldier fell silent, a helm on his head? It couldn't be. He reached out his hand to feel the cold hard surface on the top of his head. After a few moments of silence, he gasped from the horror that sprung into his being "AHH! I'm blind!"

The Scout slapped a palm to his face and sealed the window shut, even though he roughly agreed with that statement.

Minutes passed and the Soldier was just sitting, still sitting in the same hole, with his back turned, and a thumb in his mouth, his other arm hugging his knees, body waddling back and forth in a fetal position. The window opened once more.

"Soldier." The Heavy emerged, with a hint of confusion and empathy in his eyes "Scout said you can come. We have the chicks and uhh... How you say... booze!"

The Soldier still kept waddling and sucking quietly.

"It's true!" Heavy continued "And he is very sorry. He crying."

"I'm not crying, dumbass!" yelled a voice from a distance. "And I sure as hell ain't sorry!"

"Don't listen to him... Is spy." Heavy whispered with a reassuring nod "He crying like baby. I swear."

The night was falling quiet. Not even the winds could blow away it's silence.

"I'm blind, son." Soldier muttered.

"What?!" Heavy gasped, leaning out of the window and fixating his good ear.

"Blinder than a soviet nazi prophet."

"Oh..." Heavy frowned, taking a couple of seconds to mentally translate that comparison. Finally he decided to take action "I'll call doctor then."

"Don't bother, comrade. Save yourself while you still can."

Soldier's words always felt alien to the Heavy Weapons Guy. Mainly because there was no real meaning behind them. Still, it didn't make him stop to call the Medic to pick soldier up, and return to the party.

The room he was in wasn't much of a wreck as the Scout's behaviour. It was a simple one. Truly there was less furniture than expected of the Scout. A fridge, a wooden table, a raggedy old couch (which Heavy himself helped salvage up from a nearby junkyard) and a TV set which didn't even work. The party beats were coming from a radio. It was the only thing that didn't look worn out that much than the rest. Heavy could recall the Scout having to spend three months eating nothing but canned chicken sandwiches to save some money for a good radio. But he didn't, and now he has a sizzling piece of junk that catches sound waves all the way from Brazil.

The Pyro didn't seem to mind though. Making the best for the music not to go to waste. Pyro danced along the sambas and the reggaes, at times dragging close teammates by the arm for some conga, and ofcourse none could resist that energy. Or else they'd burn to death.

The Demo was breaking new grounds. He went full-on drunk exactly by not drinking. His great expectations fell short after he realized that the only thing in the party left to drink was milk. Apparently, Scout's mother's been keepin tabs on her son's drinking activity on the battlefield. Drinking beer is a no-no, even bonk falls into that category. So now all Demoman's been doing is lying face down on the floor, nothing to get drunk with except his own tears, complaining about parental issues and life in general.

But Scout drank the milk. Oh he did. He wouldn't want to suffer half a day's lecture on the phone with his mom again. He is of enormous value to the overall team, and even a second of slacking off will be enough for his team to face the consequences of sucking ass. He wouldn't want to see his team suck ass, ever again. That's why he always, runs as far away from them as he can. Yeah he might be the first to get killed, but that fact alone ensures that slacking off and therefor sucking ass - is on his team, not him.

The Sniper found himself a quiet little corner he deemed safe to drink. The Austrailian eyed the room very carefully, making sure something unexpected doesn't blow on his neck. Taking pauses in-between to acquire a sip of his own beer. He continued on like this until he didn't. Or did he? Perhaps he wants people to think he took a swig - and every time he did, he stopped and eyed the room once more to make sure he was still not at all predictable.

The Spy sat on the couch and listed through the pin-up calendar. To him, it was the most interesting thing there was to do, apart from accommodating Pyro's demands and watching Demoman crying beer out of his eye patch and licking it. He was also sitting next to the friendly Engineer, who, by the looks of things didn't seem to mind the revolver pointed to his head if he asks another question about the whereabouts of Spy's own cloak watch.

After some time, the Medic reemerged upstairs, with Soldier's arm resting on his shoulders and the body weight slouched against his own.

"Is he..." The concerned Heavy Weapons Guy paused.

"Yes." The Doctor said "He is very blind."

The entire room gasped in shock, alerting their attention to the german medical expert.

"What do you mean?" The Spy asked with a pique of interest towards the matter. Soldier didn't really show any signs of blindness.

"He was wearing his helmet for so long, he can't see anything. Look." The Medic took off his helmet.

"AHH!" The Soldier gasped.

"What is this?" The Medic waved the helmet in front of him.

The bewildered Soldier's stood still. His blue eyes tracked the object frantically "I don't know. HELP!"

He laid the helmet down onto Soldier's head, emanating a loud clang "See?"

The air went cold, except the sounds of the helmet, which was still twirling around Soldier's head.

"Now he ain't really blind is he?" Engineer pointed out suspiciously.

"Well... No not really. Ha! You got me" The german doctor admitted, releasing tension with a small laugh "I was joking a little. He just doesn't recognize anything around him, that's all."

"Well duh! Cap'n Oblivious here needs to find a better helmet. He had that thing on his head for so long I'm surprised its not attached to his skull" Scout moaned, and then his face lit up " Ahh- and hey, Soldier!"

"What? What's so funny?"

Scout tried his best not to pass out from the laughter he kept inside "N- Nothing. You're bald. That's all I wanted to say. Heh... ahAHA.."

Upon absorbing the words, the Heavy and the Engineer fumed a furious stare at their young Bostonian counter-part, who was now rolling on the floor more than a living carpet.

But it was the Soldier who sprang into action, charging at the Scout with the ramming speed of a crit rocket. The Scout's grin faded as he was caught off guard - literally with his pants down, as they went loose after the american patriot drived the wimpy-bodied Bostonian across the walls. 

"YOU LITTLE HIPPIEEEE!" Ending the painful friction of Scout's butt-cheeks with a loud thud on the floor, the Soldier started demonstrating the exact reasons why having too much hair puts the jumpy Scout in a disadvantage. T

he curious Sniper creeped himself steadily beside the German doctor "Doc, are you saying that, that crazed gunman's been using every sense except his eyesight to navigate across the battlefield this whole time?!"

"It is very possible that he was, Ja."

"Even killing?"

The doctor simply shrugged, but the Sniper was in awe. "Now that is some good skill to have. Oooh, I've gotta ask the bugger out for some tips..."

The two mercs stood there, watching the Soldier - now, along with the Heavy and Engineer, picking all of the Scouts hair apart thread by thread. The Heavy held him pinned down, while the other two had each of his arms in a tight lock, pulling every strand of arm hair they could possibly find as slow as it's threshold could withstand. Each time they did, they stopped well enough to hear the satisfying reaction of pain and agony that took Scout pleading for mercy as they were both getting eerily closer and closer towards his head... It didn't help that there was not much arm hair to work with either.

"After the show's over, of course." Sniper beamed, laying down on the couch, with his legs crossed up on the table whilst the arms acted as a pillow for his head.

Thanks to Soldier, the party was a blast throughout the whole night.

The Demoman found rejoice after an hour of licking beer from the floor. He swore to himself to always have a bottle of scrumpy no matter where he's at.

The Pyro left early and was never before seen again - only to reappear two months later in Brazil as a radio personality. Though the station was running out of listeners since all that could be heard were muffled, incomprehensibly strange noises with a suspicious crackling sound in the background. Therefor The Pyro was fired from the job, not long before firing some other people himself.

As the Spy left without a clue, there was noticeably less calendars around.

The Engineer left early and was never before seen again...

...by the assassin Sniper who was training to shoot birds mid-air with a blindfold on. Surprisingly with lots of success. If this goes on, he can just simply gouge his eyes out and perform better without the traitorous spectacles. The birds were dying by the minute.

...Those weren't even stray birds. The doctor quickly put a stop to Sniper, as he was tired of reviving Archimedes from death, only for the dove to curiously peek at the little hole of the gun again, re-encouraging the Australian even more so to commit fully on his battlefield-efficient philosophy.

Heavy finally ate the whole goddamn sandwich.

The Soldier sent Miss Pauling on a quest, as he was told that she is a legal slave. Surprisingly, Miss Pauling accepted - as true legal slaves should.

"Hi. I'm looking for a talent that can shine these boots clean."

"Oh my... Well come over and have a look for yourself."

Miss Pauling entered the large building, looking around the crowded room anxiously.

"Boy or girl?" The other woman asked, glancing queasily at the boots.

"Boy." Miss Pauling answered back hastily, face turning red from embarrassment.

"Must be a big one, huh?" The woman smiled jokingly.

"Well the bigger they are... heh."

"Don't worry, miss. We have you covered." The woman reassured "What kind of shine are you looking for?"

Miss Pauling snapped after gathering her thoughts "Do you have one from that box over there?"

"Oh. That cardboard box?" The woman smiled as she was quick to pick up on Pauling "We got that one a few days ago. Very popular with the ladies as well. I'll be right back."

Few moments later, Miss Pauling left the shoeshine orphanage along with a pissed off Scout, sunlight beams reflecting the clouds in the sky on the top of his head.


	2. Shiny little head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Scout after Soldier saved mother America?

All Offs on Mann Yards

Chapter 2

Scout was bald. Placed in a box and shipped into a shoeshine orphanage. On one hand, it kind of made sense - being an orphan ( if having no hair qualifies you as one). But nevertheless, it just seemed a bit too harsh from his team. Yeah, they're bald and deserve to be laughed at and looked down upon because of it. But this action was just too far for the Scout. Ten thousand miles too far.

On the bright side, he learned to shine shoes, and with that, help out the customers - especially the ladies. They were old and wrinkly, though nice. Praising the young Bostonian for his swiftness and agility, each time granting him a fine tip for the hard work. It wasn't a penny cause he's a poor orphan and had to stay like one, but a single gift of advice. An advice on how to pick-up young ladies. The Scout took every tip he was granted by heart, he memorized it day by day, and promised he'll use the art of pick-up jutsu for the greater good.

How fortunate was he, when he realized Miss Pauling was the one to give him a ride back home. He couldn't feel any more happy than he was at that moment. Oh, how he sprang through the fire exit and plucked all the roses from the next door flourist orphanage, then he browsed through all the sweet chocolate cookies from a nearby store and hand-picked the ones he found as sweet as her. After finding a wig on the street, he was good to go, pumping the arms full of roses and cookies up and down to gain some muscle mass on the way back. He was ready for it, ready to strike the girl of his dreams with that illustrious power of love. He ran. He ran ever-so-enthusiastically into that room where Miss Pauling waited for him, but slammed his face flat into a gold star badge, getting his belongings confiscated by the hands of the law.

The next morning, after finishing all the paperwork, Miss Paulling and Scout were on the road towards the Badlands. It was supposed to be Teufort, but spending a day breaking the bald Bostonian manchild out of the slammer was no easy task. After some failed attempts, she had no other choice but to settle with the ol' moustached cop disguise trick. It worked smoothly on the officials, the trigger-happy bunch of butt-cracks they are, but surprisingly it did on the Scout too.

"Not the chair, anything but the chair. Mister cop, I'm begging you. Have mercy. I'm bald here!" Scout pleaded, behind the net-caged window where disguised Miss Pauling was steering the wheels.

"Shut up!" Perking her mouth, Miss Pauling put on her man cop voice on "Shut up and maybe I'll let you rot in a cell like the rest, varmint."

"Oh thank you." Scout sighed in relief "You know, because dying on a chair by being shot to the head quick and painless is really embarassing from where I come from."

"The orphanage?"

"What? Noooo. I was undercover back there." Scout explained "You see cause I'm a merc. And my job, if you get shot quick and painless, you're basically a wuss."

The disguised Miss Pauling furrowed her eyebrows "Why's that?"

"Well you see, we get to die all the time. And that is the most stupid possible way to let someone die. I mean, okay, its really stupid to die in the first place, but you know, if you gotta die, you gotta do it like a real man - as slow as possible, screaming your lungs out in agony and pain."

Miss Pauling frowned skeptically at the last sentence. On all her daily errands she worked for the Administrator, she knew there was some lunatics with guns running around in the background monitors, she labeled it as some weird heterosexual roleplay fetish with hats that her employer was addicted to watching and yelling at.

Now she realized - it was that, and so much more. "So you die all the time as slow as possible. That's your full-time job?"

"Yeah, except at some weekends in the morning." Scout added, covering his mouth as if to gather some thoughts. Then his face lit up again with an exciting grin "Oh but that's not the best part. We get to kill some other guys and make them scream in pain too."

"Oh..."

"Yeah, you know why? They can come back from the dead like us. So we have to make sure they remember who killed'em, so they bare it in mind as long as possbile when they step outside again. The bet is, if you can make'em fear you, crap theirselves somewhere in the corner so hard they never want to see the light of day ever again - you win."

"So wait, why'd you have to die slowly as possible again?

"Mister cop, that's because you'll be remembered a badass. That's because, you sustained more pain than anyone else did until that moment. And with you getting me to rot in that jail cell of yours, I can rest in peace knowing no one has ever died this long as they lived." Scout pointed out, laying down on the seat, with his cap covering his eyes. He let out an enthusiastic laugh "Maaan, I can't wait for my team to see this death. I can bet, they're soiling their pants with envy - right now as we speak, Mister cop."

"Yeah well, shame they won't live long enough to see you die..."

Scout paused and opened his eyes, remembering he was the youngest one on his team. It was true, his teammates would die of old age sooner than him. There'll be no one left to witness his actual death at that point. No one to praise him, no one to get mad at Scout's superiority, no one to get frustrated on their own lack of skill to achieve the same result. No one. Zilch.

At those thoughts, the Scout's happiness turned in to a frown "Yeah..."

"...Cause Imma arrest them varmints too, and put all of them on the chair as well, harr harr harr."

"What? NO! I'm bald!" the Scout sprung, hitting his head clean up against the roof of the police car and falling unconscious into a coma.

It was late in the evening when he woke up. Looking around the overly lit room, he could only associate it's looks to a big restroom with a bunch of cabinets and equipment he did not know the use of. On his left, there was a small window pointing straight at the sun which beams woke the Scout up in the first place (so he believes). To his right, he could only recall some gadgets he'd seen in the movies that left him frightened in horror. It wasn't easy to get back to playing dead, cause a strange bird had been acutely stroking his chest with it's beak. The scout yelped in surprise and tried to shoo it off with no avail, noticing even more birds staring at him in the shadows, up on the ceiling. Oh he knew how this movie ended, alright. Well, he didn't watch the end cause he ran out the cinema screaming, but he could bet it wasn't any good "HELP!"

"Coming!" he heard a familiar call. But the birds were already joining the fray, and Scout's screams were getting louder.

Thankfully, the Medic emerged, with that signature, necessary choir of his echoing from the brightly lit background - white enough to make your eyes go blind - it was this single action of the doctor, that probably made the Soldier oblivious to everything in the first place. The medic shooed his white doves with ease.

"Alfred, Amadeus, Achilles, Adolf, Aphrodite, Adonis..." He shooed them one by one, even Amygdala, Austria, Asymptote, Allahakbar to name a few. The Scout held his jaw open in awe. He didn't see so many A's since his days of playing minor league baseball back in high school.

After Australia, Arachnophobia and Aufwiedersehn, Medic could swear he left someone out. With a jolt from behind, he got who he was looking for, right where he wanted it. Fingers pointing as guns in a cowboy shootout, the Medic pulled off a pose that could only be deemed as - Gotchya. "Einsteeein..."

The last dove acted accordingly. Grasping it's chest, checking it's pulse, then dramatically pulling a wing to it's head, twirling around and falling face flat on the med table it was on. Almost fooled the Doctor himself, but he put on a smirk as the dove got up and joined it's fellow flock on the dark of the ceiling.

"Boy, am I glad to see you, doc." Scout sighed a breath of fresh air, almost forgetting he could breathe right then. "Who knows, what these things coulda done to me."

"Ach, don't worry. They weren't going to hurt you." The Medic assured with a smile "They just thought you were one of them, that's all. They like to peck each other when in love."

Scout nodded, scanning the ceiling suspiciously. Then he sat up on the med chair. "What happened to me?"

"Well, Scout... You were in a coma-" The Doctor tried to explain but was cut off right at that instant.

"I had this terrible dream, doc. We were at a party and then Soldier and the others plucked all my hairs out and threw me in an orphanage exposing me to slavery."

"Well, yes. That happened as well."

Scout looked at the Medic with gazing eyes, opened wide like the very gates of hell. "No it didn't. I was in a coma, remember?"

"That was after you were made ba-"

"Shush!" Scout wagged a finger on his lips

"Ba-"

Then Scout covered The Doctor's mouth. Staring into him with eyes glistening "Doc... I am hairy and I have a family. That's all there is to it. Got it?"

Behind the Scout's hand, the Medic muffled some incoherent sentences, but the Scout did not let go. Furrowing his eyebrows in frustration, The german nodded strenuously.

"You sure? I can sense some b's in there, so..."

"Scomfft, efff y dmt lt gmff, ich fffll pffll yrrr prmphs out mphfph thpmph pfffld hmpfd."

"Say what? AAAH-" The Scout pulled his hand out, drying it out in a rapid up and down motion from the Doctor's saliva. "Eugh, Yuck! German spit."

"It brings good luck." Medic said, cleaning his mouth and hands with a nearby towel. "Dummkopf."

"Don't give me that, doc. Luck is for campers." Scout lectured, cleaning the remainings off with his shirt.

"Speaking of which..." Medic implied "Now that you're healthy, you should be well on your way to Badlands. The teleporters right-"

"Whoa! Easy there!" Scout opened his hands "Can't you see I'm in no shape to fight."

"What?" Medic whispered in a low voice.

"I was in a coma for cripes sake, I deserve a vacation." Scout insisted, staring at the Medic with the eyes, he could swore were those of a pug.

"What are you talking about!? You're fit as a-" The German looked at him once again, bald and helpless, in a room full of doves. He put on a wrinkled grin "-fiddle..."

"So I can stay?"

"Sure." The Doctor nodded, laughing joyfully as he was nearing the door "Stay as long as you want, its no big deal, we'll find someone else to take your place, Hahah!"

"Good" Scout laughed along, tears in his eyes from happiness "Good... Hey, say hi to the team for me, okay? And tell them I have hair! Make sure you tell'em that!"

"I will." Doctor smiled "Goodbye, Scout!"

"See ya, doc."

The Doctor shut the door and locked it tight, whistling a tune across the hall, that he himself came up with as he was feeding doves from the old days back in Germany. The choral of nurses he passed by were still concerned about the young Bostonians well being.

"Herr Doktor" One of the sopranos called out "Is he alright? What happened?"

"He is..." The Doctor stopped, turning around and directing his good ear towards the door. Smiling in satisfaction, he turned to the concerned woman "-Folically deprived. But not for long. He'll arrive on the battlefield. One way or another, he will. Ha!"

"Oh..." The concerned nurse glanced at the locked door, as she could hear noises originating from them. "Okay, Herr Doktor."

"Don't worry. We're immortal, ja? He won't feel a thing." The Doctor said. He continued his whistling and looked around the choir for some support. "Come on, turn that frown upside-down, frauleins! With me - Ein - Zwei -"

And as he conducted them, the choir of nurses sang once more, that catchy tune from his old days back in Stuttgard. He orchestrated the ensemble with a skippity beat, his arms waving along with the melody of the choir. Even though there weren't any instruments around, he could hear them in his head. The brass and the drums, and his very own violin, playing that sweet tune that echoed across the hallways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more of a sad chapter, but that's life for the Scout.


	3. Lights!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing in particular but fluff happens

All Offs on Mann Yards

Chapter 3

The result of Scout's absence was a streak of back and forth losses, but occasionally - dissapointing stalemates. Turns out the Bostonian wonderboy had an important impact towards the team's, and even the entire war's, overall success. Turns out... He was right.

Yet, The Medic held no remorse towards this matter. He couldn't. He was too busy teaching Soldier the difference between helmets and toilet bowls.

"You want to wear a toilet on your head? Fine!" In surrender, The doctor thrusted his arms in the air and stood up from his seat. "AT LEAST make sure you flush it first!"

Soldier's lips tightened, but he looked up to the German once more "Are you insulting my camo, doc?"

"Soldier!" Medic yelled. He breathed in and out, massaging his eyes "Please... No more..."

"What? No more? Hah! You can't handle the truth" Soldier chuckled in his supposed victory, it wasn't even his fault that the camouflage smelled like half-grilled roadkill on a rainy day - That was the idea. No enemy would want to get near a racoon that vile.

"That's all our time." Medic said "I'll see to you in an hour or so..."

"Hey!" Soldier jumped "What about my medicine, Doc?"

"Get a bath!" Medic yelled and closed the door to Soldier's apartment.

"How bad is it, docteur?" The sneaky Spy asked from interest. He was leaning on a wall nearby, waving a lit cigarette between his fingers.

"The wartank is not a pool, maggot!" a mumble managed through the closed door.

"We're making progress." The German sighed.

"Mon Dieu!" The Spy gasped in a low voice. "I thought you were making a purposeless debate over there. Like an unstable couple."

"You seem to know a lot about that." Medic readjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "He is schtupid, Herr Spy. More than before, if I may say."

The Spy held a steady gaze at the doctor "Soldier can not become more stupid than he already is, Docteur... Perhaps you should examine his brain? It might be a tum-"

"Its not a tumor!" Medic interrupted "Not a tumor... I've checked."

After a few silent seconds he came to a simple yet logical conclusion "Though I do believe that constant exposure to zhe war triggered his neurons to shrink."

With that, Spy engaged in an applause with a sarcastic delight in his claps "Good work! Well, that settles it, Soldier is stupid and expendable - like always. Lets talk about Scout."

The german jumped in confusion from the abrubt change of subjects "Wh- What, who?"

"The Scout, Docteur." The Frenchman's smoothly pushed himself off of the wall, he dropped his cigarette extinguishing it with a stomp of his heel, slowly starting to walk across the doctor's view, his frame casting a vicious shadow over the cornered German's face. "You know what I heard? I heard he was somewhere in... Mann Yards."

"Hahaha!" The Medic laughed, wiping away a single tear "Mann Yards? Oooh that was a really fun delivery. You're hysterical, Mister Spy."

"I get that a lot." The Spy commented "You know what else I heard?" he continued walking in front of the German, withstanding his careful pace, keeping a dark gaze nailed into the doctor like a venomous snake "I heard he was bald."

The Medic gasped. His eyes widening in a grim gaze at the french assassin. With a whisper he could only manage a single question "How?!"

"Let's just say..." Spy smiled "A little birdy told me."

The Doctor's jaw opened wide, but before he could cry out, an elbow up his mouth pushed him against the side of the wall, muffling his screams.

"Where... is he?" The assassin drawled, leaning in to meet the doctor's gaze.

The Doctor was shaking his head.

"WHERE IS HE?" An explosive yell sprung an enhancement towards the frenchman's accent, face lighting up with anger and disgust. He slapped the Doctor across the floor with a notable swoosh, a slap taught in the highest ranks of Le Françe, a slap that sent the German doctor sliding throughout the entire pavement, his lab coat ripping in tares.

But the Doctor laughed. Maniacally rolling around the mat in a turmoil of jubilance and alacrity. His fingers twitching sporadically out of sheer ridicule, contempt, condescention and all the other libraries of words totally not phoned in from the english thesaurus. The assassin's face was left in mere confusion but then it lit up in shock.

"You..." Spy examined the arm that held the doctor's mouth pinned, it was wet and tattered. "Ruined my suit..."

"It brings good luck. Hahaa!" The Doctor added in between his laughs.

The Spy hurled his entire body towards him, it echoed a thud that shook the whole hall. "IMBECILE!"

In his flooded war tank, as the light was dark and the water wet, The Soldier casually listened to the suppressed sound of screams and struggle. There were some brief cracking sounds he could connect to the ones he heard on the battlefield, though the muteness of them took him back way more. Back when the world was big and awkward. Back when the only camouflage was a pair of used diapers. Was this called memory?

"Aye! Knock it off, lads!" The Demoman interrupted, barging out from his own apartment. "I'm drunk and ugly!"

With that, silence spread like plague, and since no one had anything to refute towards the Scotsman's statement, the fight was postponed.

"That is fortunately true, my dear Scotsman." The Spy nodded adjusting his suit and wiping off dust, he then turned to his colleague who was doing the same "Apologies, docteur. Can you *ahem* please tell us where Scout is? I think we all can agree, It is very important to have him on the battlefield."

"What?" The Demo protested, and inadvertedly let himself be the angry man of the group now "Since when did we agree on that?!"

"Hmmm..." The Medic thought out loud "Ja. Yes there is truth in what you say, Spy. On the field, Zhe Scout proves... quite distracting haha!" He admited with a recalling chuckle, fixing his glasses up. With a few glances around, he recollected himself by clearing his throat. "Ahem. He's in my clinic. The clinic in... Mann Yards, heheh."

He apologetically looked at Spy, and the response was nothing but a blank squinted stare.

"We should probably go. Who knows where Scout could distract people to death next, hah? Follow me!"

"Lads, what about Soldier?" The Scotsman pointed at the steel door to soldier's apartment, his eye was drenched in concern.

The two men came to a halt and turned around. A little over a moment, the Medic loosened his lips in an effort to respond, and after all eyes turned to him, there was no real answer to give.

"I'm distracting too!" Soldier called out from behind the door.

Demoman's frown mirrored itself towards the rest.

"Look at me!" a pair of eyes peeked out from the door's postmail hole. "Distracting... Distracting..."

The eyes ventured left and right, as the three mercenaries looked at them depressingly.

"Mission accomplished!" The mail hole closed.

The Scotsman turned his eye to the Doctor questioningly "He can still fight, raeight?"

"Sure." The Medic said "But all that fighting might be frying his brain."

Hearing that, the black scottish cyclops rested his forehead on the door, his sad expression flowing into frustration. "Bloody hell, mate! How much is this going to keep on?"

"What?"

"They said we aren't, but I know it, lads." Demo said "We're dying. From the inside, we are. This place, be it what it is, can keep us in check for once in a while, aye. But we can't be sane forever, not if we keep all this fighting going on, you know. I've known it, and you knew it too."

The doctor lowered his eyes.

The Spy went for a second cigarette.

"And here I am without a care in a world, bloody hell mate." Demo slurred, kind of a forceful slur, but that is one of his perks, he can get drunk at whichever time it pleases him.

That very moment, something behind the Scotsman catched the Spy's view and made him raise an eyebrow "Speaking of hell..."

Demo repeated the assassin's expression. With a quick turn, he jumped a good 3 feet back in surprise after meeting inches close with a horrific gas mask. It was the Pyro.

With a flush of yelps, Demoman still struggled to retain balance on his heel after he landed the ground. Knowing he was too drunk and ugly, he surrendered all his efforts and, just like any other if-it-would-be bachelor, resorted falling into french arms - they had no intent on catching him.

*THUD*

"And what are you doing here?" Spy asked the Pyro with a calm tone. One was never sure how to speak while Pyro was around.

As was the nature of Pyro, nothing comprehensive could be established. The Pyro was a being that simply - was. Standing there with a blank stare, the gas-masked mercenary reached into a pocket. The Spy furrowed his eyebrows, as the rubber-gloved hand of the pyromaniac slowly revealed a lighter, the top of it clicked, a spark burst into a candle-like flame.

"Oh? Prego." Spy snagged the lighter into his hand and lit his second cigar.

"I can't fight like this any more, I dunnae keen what to-" Demo hiccuped and slurred

"Demoman." Spy said, giving the lighter back to Pyro and inhaling the freshly lit piece "As a mysterious dashing rogue, I can only say that your silly bouts of drunken depression insult our line of work, as a fellow colleague, I warn you to keep your mouth shut. You of all should know this much..."

The masked Frenchman met eyes with the Scotsman and lowered his voice. "We're being watched."

Right then, the loudest audible sound was the burning flicker of the Pyro's lighter. The masked mercenary slowly and eerily raised a free hand, pointing the index and the middle finger to self, then instantly, the hand sprung into a sudden jabbing motion at the demoman's direction, repeating about three times until it relaxed back down. Following that, The Pyro closed the lighter, turned and slowly creeped back to the wherevers of the hallway.

What that was supposed to mean was up to their interpretation, but it emphasized Spies words quite well.

"You're sharing the lighter?" Medic asked with trickles of sweat pouring from his forehead. Anything to ease the tension and change the subject.

"Oui." Spy smiled, in fact, he was happy to comply "Frightening isn't it? Alas, such lighters are scarce. No burning flame can match the tonality as that one. It gives a sense of colour to the tobacco's taste, the blueish outline greets a comforting yet demanding aura to the-"

"Heya fellas!" A welcoming accent halted his blabbering as the Texan Engineer skipped towards the company of three. "Phew! Was there a barbeque in here or what? Smells like roasted schnitzels..."

"Aye!" Demo greeted with a laugh "Staggerin' isn't it? Whe'are ya runnin tae anyway?"

"Well I was off to the Mann Co Store. to get myself some shade" He knocked his shaved head and chuckled "I know it's hard to believe it with Pyro around, but out there in the field, It's getting cold out there." he said jokingly "What're y'all bunched around here for anyway?"

Silently, the mercs shared reluctant stares.

"God-dangnabit!" Engineer gasped, taking a step forward with a pointed finger "Does Soldier need his toilet fixed, again?"

"Pfftt. No. We're just, you knoe... Talking about how happy and immortal we are raeight?" Demo joked, slight nervousness passed across his eye when not hearing any support from the - well - supports.

"Anyways let's go get Scout." Spy brought up.

"GOSHDARNGNABIT I KNEW IT" The Texan jumped and kicked the air "I knew you were gonna want that hopping buck-tooth ball nibbler back for a homerun, Spy!"

"Sacrebleu what is it now?!" Spy said in surrender "What did I say? What are you doing here anyway? Off you go! Shoo!"

"Oh I know I'm on to you, Paris. You know why?" Engineer flared, even with his goggles on, his look felt menacing "On the campus, You think you can just walk over to me, ask about the weather, then proceed to listen to all my life stories without sharing anything 'bout your own damn self? Well you're wrong, pally. Dead wrong. I've done my research and you know what? I know something, Spy... Something about you!"

Silence struck the surrounding once more. The Scotsman and the Doctor couldn't be more confused, but a single glance at the masked assassin filled their lungs with a whole pile of answers, and none of them felt appropriate to let loose. The Spy was staring down the Texan ferociously, his slender frame stood calm and collected but the look in his eyes, the look that shut everyone up, was enough to let them know he was ready to strike.

Engineer smirked "Y'wanna know what that is?"

The assassin grit his teeth in solemn anger, all what he managed through them was a single "What?"

"Well..." The Texan tipped his hardhat and pierced an index straight into the spy's direction "Y'CAN'T! NOW HOW'S THAT FEEL, YA SOLICITING CLOSET SNICKER?"

Everyone's shoulders seemed to drop lighter after that.

"I'm drowning in anguish" Spy said puckering his lips, but then he flinched.

Engineer chuckled. There was an eerie shadow showing across his goggles, and although his smile was meant to be friendly, there was something unnerving hiding behind it and it mocked the Spy. It mocked the mask he was hiding behind and it mocked the very thing he thought he had long lost. Care.

"See ya'll later, fellas." Engineer said, leaving.

Spy inhaled the tobacco more strongly as the sound of Engineer's footsteps faded.

"The Scout is not your orphan, he is an orphan of the law, he is an orphan of America, he is an orphan of all things good, and we will not adopt him again!" a gravelly yell came from behind the door. "Are you hearing me? That is an order!"

"Oh shut up!" Spy yelled back.

When the three men finally arrived at the Doctor's clinic, The Medic demanded a halt.

"What is it?"

"Now now, Herr Spy, its my clinic, I go first."

The Spy's eyelids drooped, as he was sluggishly following the Doctor this whole time "Was I stopping you?"

"Not really, but just in case. Does it look alright?"

The two men inspected the building lazily.

"I mean my hair... Ja. it's perfect." The Doctor, answering his own question, combed his doo and spiraled around the single bang that stuck out with his index finger. He started stretching his arms, working on his spine, then both his legs, after finishing the brief exercise, he adjusted his glasses, then almost ceremonially approached the Clinic's doorway "*Ahem* Alright, make way now."

"For what?" The Demoman looked around his surroundings, trying to catch what exactly the Doctor was talking about. After noticing nothing, he turned to Spy for an answer.

The Spy simply rolled his eyes, and the Demo took a few steps back just to be safe.

The Medic sprang open the door and virtually instantly started walking in slow motion. An enormous, divine beam of light blinded all three eyes of the other mercenaries. They were almost knocked off their feet, as explosions of white angelic doves bursted out of the bright luminescence. Something was terribly wrong though, and within a heartbeat, Medic stumbled into real-time, the heaven's light faded off and the doves dropped flat into extinction.

The German doctor yelped. Jumping wildly around the whole main lobby, he peeked under every corner, chair, desk and bird, everything he could possibly find... he did not find what he was looking for "The Chorus?! Where is the chorus?!"

"You mean - the nurses?" The Spy said, casually swooping a couple dove carcasses off of his shoulders. "I saw zhem this morning. They said they were leaving... or something like that."

"Dummkopf!" The German turned "Why didn't you stop them?"

The Spy sneered "Why would I? They were prostrated! You left them around Scout for four days straight."

The Demo gasped "HE DID WHAT!?"

To be continued...


End file.
